When They Know the Truth
by cellorocksmyworld
Summary: What will Peter's life be like when his identity is revealed? Moderately AU. CHAPTER 12 UP!
1. Chapter 1

When They Know the Truth

He could hear screams. Driving his beat up old moped down Broadway, Peter Parker could sense the terror of people fifty blocks away. Something was very wrong. Turning into a narrow alley, he ditched the moped behind a dumpster and began to strip. Suddenly his spider sense shrieked in warning, sending violent shivers down his spine. He had to get to those people **NOW**. Still wearing his jeans he pulled on his mask and took off, letting his instincts guide him.

When he reached the scene he dropped onto a nearby rooftop and gaped. He had been in many fires, but none so big as this. The apartment building was huge, at least fifty stories tall, each story filled with frantic, terrified, helpless civilians. Peter could already tell that he would never get to them all in time. The fire was explosive and strong, and the building was already on the verge of collapse. This was not the first time in his six years of webswinging that Peter had felt defeat, but each time hurt as much as the first one.

_I may not be able to save all of them, but I can save some,_ he thought determinedly, and jumped forward. He swung feet first through a window on an upper floor and was greeted by an onslaught of smoke. He was standing in a hallway, and people were rushing every which way, dodging falling debris, coughing and screaming. Grabbing a middle aged man and his son in one arm, Peter jumped back out the broken window. After getting them safely to the sidewalk, he pulled himself up again. The fire trucks had arrived, and were trying to douse the inferno. They might as well have been using Dixie cups for all the good it did. But Peter had never been so happy to see ladders in all his life. Thanks to the firemen, he wouldn't have to worry about the first twenty or so stories. Which only left… thirty.

_Oh brother._

Plunging back into the building, he grabbed two more people and brought them to safety.

_If only I really did have eight legs. They would come in handy at times like this._

Time passed slowly. Again and again he made the trip to the upper stories and back again. His throat was filled with smoke, and he was finding it difficult to breath. Every minute the building remained standing was a gift from heaven. As the firemen worked to clear the lower stories, and the crowd of people saved from the upper stories grew, Peter began to think that maybe there wouldn't be many casualties after all.

He was just about to launch himself upward for what seemed to be the gazillionth time when Peter felt something tugging at the now filthy jeans he had not had time to discard. Looking down, he saw a little boy, tears streaming down his face leaving streaks on the soot – covered cheeks. Crouching down, he held the boy by the shoulders and asked him what he wanted. He pointed up at the building with a trembling finger and choked out, "It's my mom. She's still up there."

Glancing up in the direction the boy was pointing, Peter said, "What floor?"

"T - third from the top. Our window is right next to the gargoyle. She g - got trapped in her… in her room," he stuttered through his tears. Peter nodded and patted the boy on the shoulder.

"I'll get her," he reassured him. Shooting a web at the specified gargoyle, he pulled himself up and smashed through the window.

The room was filled with smoke. Peter felt like he was suffocating, and the mask wasn't helping. Yanking it off, he yelled, "Where are you? Hello?"

There was no answer. He could hear the floor groaning, and knew it would not be long before the whole thing fell down. But he had promised that boy that he would get his mother, and he was not about to break that promise. Searching the room through squinted eyes, at first he saw nothing. But on second inspection, he made out a dark form huddled against the wall next to the bed. Vaulting over the couch, he rushed to the unconscious woman's side and gathered her up in his arms. He made for the window, but it was too late. His spider sense screamed in warning a split second before the floor collapsed beneath him.

It seemed as though he fell for an eternity. He could not shoot a web without dropping the woman. Crashing through beams and burned away floorboards, he somehow managed to protect the boy's mother from the worst of the impacts. Finally, his body met something that would not give. Pain rocketed through him and the breath was driven from his body. But it all seemed worth it when he looked down and saw the woman, unhurt and still breathing.

The floor groaned again, sending a jolt of fear through him. Staggering upright, he hoisted the woman over his shoulder and looked around, searching for a way out. His stomach dropped like a stone. He was completely surrounded by debris. No windows, no doors, nothing. For a second he was tempted to just start throwing things out of the way, but then reason intervened. Anything he moved might send the rest of the floors crashing down on top of him.

_All right Peter. Time to use that brain of yours. How are you gonna get out of this one?_

He closed his eyes and thought back. Up in the woman's apartment, the windows had been on his right. Assuming they had not turned around as they fell, the windows should still be on the right.

_That's a very big if._

So if he could just dig through the debris without moving anything too crucial to the stability of the building, sooner or later he would come to a window.

_That's also a very big if._

Well, there was no helping that. So he got to work.

Time seemed to creep forward with all the suspense and infuriation of Chinese Water Torture. Moving quickly was not an option, because anything done in haste might end up killing them both. But the groans and creaks coming from below them were constant reminders of how little time they had.

Finally, Peter saw light. Excitedly, he pulled away the debris surrounding the broken window.

_Creak. Groan. Crack._

_Oh, shit._

Frantically, he grabbed the woman by the shirt and dragged her toward the opening. The space he had cleared was not big, but it would have to be enough. The building was coming down, and not even a miracle would stop it.

They smashed through the opening just as the ceiling fell. It was quickly followed by the rest of the building. Desperate to get some distance between them and the falling debris, Peter shot out a webline at a nearby building. Once again, he found himself unable to shoot another one without dropping his helpless passenger.

_Lady, this would be a really great time for you to wake up_, he thought to himself as the hard brick wall of the building loomed closer and closer. Turning his body at the last second, he hit the wall with his back and lost his grip on the webline. Luckily, it was only a few stories down to the sidewalk. Peter didn't feel all that lucky when he hit the pavement, however.

He could hear footsteps coming closer, and rolled the comatose woman off his chest. He hoped she was okay, and that she would wake up to see her son's smiling face. Struggling for breath through a smoke – clogged throat, and probably several broken ribs, Peter could feel darkness encroaching. He coughed explosively and gripped his chest in pain. And as he felt consciousness leave him, he finally remembered that his mask, the only thing that kept his identity a secret, was still in that building, buried under the remains of that woman's apartment.

A/N: And the chapter ends. Next one will be up soon!

REVIEWS ARE MY REASON FOR LIVING!


	2. Chapter 2

It was on every news station, every talk show, every radio frequency in the country within twenty minutes. Every newspaper in the world wanted pictures, and information to go with them. And the focus of all this attention? A beat up twenty – three year old college boy sitting in a Manhattan jailhouse.

Spiderman had been revealed.

* * *

"So. Spiderman. You got a name? A real one, I mean."

The boy sat, handcuffed to a chair in the dark questioning room, staring coldly at Detective Brandt. He didn't reply.

"C'mon, kid. This silent act ain't makin' you look a whole lot more innocent."

Brandt hated interrogations. The dark room, the intimidating guards, the subtle questions… All masterfully planned to break down the twisted mind of a criminal. And its effectiveness was disturbing.

"Your name, boy. I don't want to have to beat it out of you."

The young man's eyes flashed intensely. "You can't harm me. I know my rights."

The burly old man smirked and leaned forward. "Those rights apply only to humans, webhead."

Anger and hurt flared up on Spiderman's face, and for a moment, the detective wished he could take the words back. But the boy's face smoothed over quickly, all traces of emotion erased. His eyes grew steely, and his chin rose defiantly.

"Fine. Do your worst."

The kid had called Brandt's bluff, and he knew it. This time, it was Spiderman's turn to smirk. The old man felt his face grow hot with embarrassment.

"Have it your way, then! But I'll find out sooner or later. We've already sent your fingerprints to the archives. I'll have a file with everything about you, down to your shoe size, within the hour."

That wiped the smile off Spiderman's face. He coughed into his hand, which came away black with smoke, and grimaced. This short sign of weakness handed Brandt a golden opportunity on a silver platter. Leaning forward once again and putting his forearms on the table, he tried to look sympathetic.

"You fell pretty far, didn't you kid?"

The boy looked at him suspiciously.

"I bet you're pretty busted up inside, ain'tchya?"

Spiderman's look of discomfort was as good as a confession. Brandt was hard put not to punch the air in triumph.

"Well, Spiderman, we've got some pretty good doctors right around the corner here. They could fix you up in a jiffy. All you got to tell us is who you are, and we'll get you right over there."

The kid looked torn. He was obviously in a fair amount of pain. But at the same time a look of fear and distrust filled his features. For the second time, Brandt felt a pang of regret. His own son would be about this boy's age, if he were alive. When had he become so heartless as to torture a kid?

"Peter Parker." The name seemed torn from the young man, as though it were his last defense. And in a way, it was. "My name's Peter Parker. I'm a – "

"A graduate student majoring in nuclear physics at Colombia."

A tall, blond - haired man had entered the room. He held an open file in front of him, and was reading it as though it was a best – selling novel.

"A photographer for the Daily Bugle. A part – time waiter at the Moondance Café. Lives in a dilapidated old apartment on the north side of town. No surviving relations."

The man placed the file on the table and leaned against it nonchalantly. "You know, if I didn't know better, I'd say you led a pretty boring life."

He leaned forward until he was inches from Peter's face. The coldness in those gray eyes sent shivers down Peter's spine.

"But I do know better."

Standing upright again, he picked up the file and flipped through it.

"You've had it rough kid, I'll give you that. Your parents killed by a pair of muggers right in front of you, uncle shot by a carjacker, aunt murdered by a crazed supervillain…"

He looked up into Peter's stricken face. "No wonder you turned out the way you did."

"What do you mean?" Peter said through gritted teeth.

"Well, it's only natural to want to take from this city everything that it took from you. You just chose a rather strange way of going about it."

"You've been reading the Daily Bugle, haven't you?" the boy said with a small smile. "You actually believe that _I'm_ behind all those fires, and robberies, and muggings? Why would I do that? _How_ would I do that?"

The blond man looked annoyed. "How should I know how you do it? All I know is that whenever something goes wrong, you're there playing the hero. You can't possibly just be at the right place at the right time!"

Peter stared at him fiercely. "Oh, but that's exactly how it is. You're exaggerating; I'm not always there when something goes wrong. You know how much it hurts when I hear about someone I could have saved, but didn't get to in time? Some accident I could have prevented? I try my best to save as many people as I can, and you act as if it's some sort of crime! You arrest me for trying to help, well why don't you go arrest the guy helping the little old lady cross the street!"

"That's different…"

"No! It's not! You think that guy arranged to have that lady be there, put her in danger, just so he could look good? No, he's doing it because he actually cares about her safety, just like I care about the safety of every single person in this city! And I will continue to care, no matter what you schmucks say about me!"

The blond – haired man's body stiffened, and Brandt recognized the signs of one of his partner's approaching rages.

"Alan…" he warned. But it was too late. Alan struck out at the man in the chair, and the sound of his nose breaking echoed sickeningly throughout the room. Brandt was out of his chair in an instant, grabbing his partner by the arms and dragging him away from the reeling young man. Alan fought him, and yelled furiously.

"You lying son of a bitch! You're a criminal and a murderer and everyone knows it! You've made us look like idiots for the past _six years_, and now you're gonna pay!"

"Alan, _calm down_!" Brandt shouted, but there was just no stopping the man when he had gotten himself all worked up like this. Reminding himself to begin the search for a new partner when this was all over, the old detective threw Alan out of the room and locked the door. He turned back to see Spiderman wiping his nose with his free hand. The blood dripping freely down his face and onto his bare chest did not improve the young man's already ghastly appearance. Suddenly remembering the promise he had made to the boy, he walked to the chair and took out the key to the handcuffs. Peter looked up at him in surprise.

"You're letting me go?"

Brandt nodded. "We don't have any evidence to convict you. We just brought you in for questioning in the hopes that you would confess."

The young man looked him right in the eye and said evenly, "There's nothing _to_ confess."

And somehow, Brandt knew that he was telling the truth. He didn't know how it had happened, but during the course of the interrogation, he had developed a strong respect for this Peter Parker, replacing the open hatred he had felt for Spiderman. He no longer believed that this man's intent was to destroy. Whether he admitted it or not, Nathan Brandt had become a fan.

"You might want to drop by the doctor's before you leave, and get cleaned up." Nathan gestured to the young man's nose. Peter nodded wearily and made for the door. But before he reached it, he stopped and turned around.

"Everything's going to change… isn't it?"

At that moment, Brandt didn't hear the voice of a world – famous superhero. He heard the voice of a boy; forlorn, desperate, and utterly alone, his deepest secret exposed to those he fought to protect. Nathan almost didn't have the heart to answer.

"Yeah, kid… Peter. Everyone knows now. Your face is plastered on every newspaper, every TV from here to Shanghai. Everywhere you go, people will recognize you."

Peter looked shell-shocked. "What am I going to do?"

"I don't know." Brandt shrugged. "That's your business. I wish I could help, but I haven't really had much experience with this kinda thing."

The kid cracked a smile, the first one the detective had seen. "No, I don't suppose you have."

As he turned to leave, Brandt felt the need to say something more, something in parting.

"Hey kid."

Peter paused.

"Good luck."

"Thanks." And the boy left, the door swinging shut behind him.

PLEASE REVIEW!


	3. Chapter 3

The doctor had been skittish, patching Peter up quickly and avoiding eye contact. It was the same way with almost everyone else in the building, though a few brave police officers gave him belligerent stares, as if they would have liked to pound the crap out of him. Peter's spirits sunk lower and lower, until he felt as though he was already in hell. Was this what it was going to be like for the rest of his life?

He still couldn't quite grasp the fact that his identity was now common knowledge. Things were going to be completely different. He wouldn't be able to walk down the street without someone recognizing him. Criminals would be able to find him, or would hold his loved ones hostage.

_Scratch that. You don't have loved ones anymore, remember?_

Somehow, that didn't make him feel much better.

Pulling on the hoodie the doctor had so thoughtfully thrown at him, Peter made his way to the door. All he wanted to do was go home to his apartment, curl up under the covers of his bed, and never go outside again. Still deep in thought, he stepped out onto the street.

The flash of cameras and the frantic voices of reporters assaulted him in an instant. Obviously the whereabouts of Spiderman had not been a closely guarded secret. Recoiling in horror from the totally unwanted attention, Peter stumbled backwards into the jail and slammed the door shut in the reporters' faces.

"Oh my God…" He gripped his head in his hands, suddenly feeling very sick. This was all real. It wasn't just some dream.

"Oh… my… what am I going to do?" he whispered. He felt as though he had jumped from a very high cliff, with no parachute and know way of knowing what was at the bottom. He had _no_ idea where to go from here. Would he still be able to go to school? Have a job? Make friends? Be Spiderman? Fall in love?

_Don't think about love. Look at what happened the last time you did._

Pushing all these thoughts from his mind, he set off purposefully, determined to find a way out that did not include forcing his way through hordes of reporters. Finally settling for a window on the third floor, he jumped out and swung to his apartment.

Not bothering to conceal his arrival, Peter landed on the balcony and entered the run – down hovel that he had called home for the past five years. He was glad to see that everything was as he had left it. The police obviously hadn't been able to obtain a search warrant, and Mr. Ditkovich, despite his faults, wasn't one to let random, curious people enter his tenant's apartments, even if said tenant was a world – famous superhero.

Peter collapsed gratefully onto his bed, glad that some things in his life remained constant. Not even taking off his filthy jeans, the exhausted young man crawled under the covers and promptly fell asleep, promising himself that he wouldn't worry about tomorrow until it came.

* * *

Peter woke to the sound of his alarm clock. Groaning, he pressed the snooze button. Five minutes later, he did it again. Finally, he pulled himself out of bed. Maybe he'd actually be on time for Dr. Connors' lecture today…

And then he remembered. Dr. Connors, along with the rest of the world, now knew exactly why he was always late to class.

Peter was sorely tempted to just go back to bed, but then reason intervened. He was going to have to face this sooner or later, so it might as well be today. Feeling butterflies dancing in his stomach, he peeled off the previous day's blackened, bloodied clothes and donned some that were not quite so dirty. He didn't have time to take a proper shower, so he tried to get the worst of the filth out of his hair by washing it in the sink. On his way out of the bathroom, he ran smack dab into his landlord.

An awkward moment passed. Finally Mr. Ditkovich, who seemed to be having difficulty forming words, just nodded to him and brushed by into the bathroom. Hoping this first encounter would be the worst, Peter grabbed his books, put up his hood, and walked the four blocks to the Colombia campus. He had not had a chance to recover his moped or his shirt from the alley. He only hoped they would still be there.

By hunching his shoulders and keeping his face hidden in the hood of the sweater, Peter made it to Colombia without incident. But, hovering at the gate and recalling all the times he had sprinted through the square, all the times he had felt like an idiot when he dropped his books, all the times he had been ridiculed and called a jerk, he realized that he didn't have to go through that anymore. He was Spiderman, and he didn't have to be ashamed.

Pushing his hood down and pulling his shoulders back, he entered the campus with confidence, standing tall and proud. People stopped and stared at him, whispered to each other, pointed. And for the very first time, he didn't feel like Peter Parker the boy. He felt like Peter Parker, the man.

He was only a few minutes late to class. Trying not to distract Dr. Connors or the other students, he entered quietly and slipped into the nearest seat. But he was still noticed. The room went utterly silent. Peter shifted uncomfortably and shot a pleading look at Dr. Connors. The one – armed professor caught on quickly and called the students' attention back to the front. Peter tried to pay attention, but he could still feel people's gazes fixed on the back of his neck.

Suddenly, he realized the girl sitting next to him was sliding in his direction and batting her eyes seductively. He moved away from her, aware that twenty – four hours ago, this girl wouldn't have given him the time of day. But she refused to be ignored. Latching onto his shoulder, she brought her mouth to his ear and whispered sensually, "How 'bout we go somewhere after class, hmmm?"

"Yeah, why don't you go to your apartment and I'll go to mine?" Pete whispered back, and silently tried to detach himself from the girl's well - manicured hands.

"No, together, silly!" she giggled.

At the noise, Dr. Connors' head whipped round and he barked, "Miss Anderson! Would you care to tell me what you are doing that is so important you have to discuss it during my class?"

Still gripping Peter by the shoulder, the girl giggled again and said entirely unashamedly, "Oh, Dr. Connors sir! We were just talking about where we should meet for our next date!"

Unable to stand it any longer, Peter tore himself free from the girl, grabbed his books and moved next to a boy who would probably not give him the same trouble. Miss Anderson looked slightly miffed, but he was sure that she would get over it quickly.

The rest of the lesson passed slowly. Peter found himself unable to concentrate, too wrapped up was he in wonderings and worries. Instead of taking notes, he drew a detailed picture of Mary – Jane, and wondered what she must be thinking now, as she sat next to her astronaut husband and watched the news of her former best friend's secret identity. Would she be shocked? Of course she would be shocked. But would she feel regret? Would she realize that this was the reason he had let her down so many times?

It hurt to think of her. It hurt to look at her. So he crumpled up her picture and threw it in the trash. He sat there for the remainder of the lesson, head in his hands, ignoring the occasional stares of his classmates and teacher.

"Peter? Can I see you after class?"

He raised his head to see Dr. Connors waiting for a reply. Wearily, he nodded. As the students began to leave, the boy sitting next to Peter turned to him and handed him a sheet of paper. A copy of his notes for the entire lesson.

"You looked like you needed some help," he said kindly. Peter smiled at him gratefully. The boy nodded and punched him lightly on the shoulder.

"Keep your head up, okay? Only the stupid people believe those things in the Daily Bugle."

"Thank you," Peter whispered. And the boy left.

_It's nice to know there are still some kind people in the world,_ Peter thought as he made his way to Dr. Connors' desk. He stood in front of it, and the professor looked up at him.

"So…"

"So…?"

"Well, now I know why you're never here."

Peter looked down at his feet uncomfortably.

"Did you want to ask me something, Dr. Connors?"

The man looked thoughtful, and then said, "I just wanted to apologize for all the times I was harsh, or tough on you. I didn't realize…"

"Nobody did. And I'm glad you were tough on me. I'd never have gotten this far if you weren't."

Dr. Connors looked mildly surprised. "You are brilliant, Peter. But up until yesterday, I thought you were just lazy. Now I know better."

He smiled up at the young man. "If you ever need any help, with anything, just ask me alright?"

Peter nodded, and turned to leave.

"Oh, and Peter?"

"Yes?"

"You're paper on fusion is still due. Get it done, okay? I don't want to have to fail you."

The boy grinned. "Don't worry, Dr. Connors. You'll get it."

Thanks to all my reviewers!

PLEASE REVIEW!


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: A lot of you have been asking about Peter's parents, and how the way they died is like in Batman, and I have to admit that I did steal the idea from the bat. I haven't read the Spiderman comics, so I didn't know how they really died until htbthomas told me. Sorry if I confused anyone.**

Leaving the Colombia campus, Peter pulled his hood back up and turned his feet toward the Daily Bugle. Walking into that place was like entering the lion's den, with Jonah Jameson just waiting to bite his head off, but photography was Peter's main source of income, and he wasn't about to give that up unless he was formally fired.

The newsstands lining the sidewalk screamed yesterday's news. Pictures of him lying on the sidewalk after the fire, pictures of him being pushed into the police car after he regained consciousness, pictures of him entering the burning building, his senior high school yearbook photo…

_Oh god. Where did they get that horrific thing?_

This whole situation was already embarrassing and uncomfortable. Why did they have to make it worse by plastering him in all his nerdiness over the cover of Time Magazine?

Pulling the hood a little further over his head, he shouldered his way through the crowd of people hovering around the newsstands.

_Jameson has at least one thing to thank me for. Business is booming._

Two teenage girls brushed by him, both looking at a slightly less embarrassing photograph of him when he had tried to leave the jail. They were giggling uncontrollably, only adding to Peter's mortification.

"He's kinda cute, for a geek!"

"Yeah, what a baby face! And those eyes!"

The second girl pretended to swoon. Peter, eternally grateful to his hoodie, blushed like the setting sun.

Suddenly, his spider sense tingled. He whipped round, searching for the disturbance. And then he saw it. The two girls, utterly engrossed by the magazine they had bought, were walking out into the street… straight into the path of an oncoming truck.

_No time, no time! I don't have time to get my suit on! What am I going to do?_

The truck blared its horn, and Peter could hear the brakes squealing. The girls had turned; one had opened her mouth, about to scream.

_Oh yeah. I don't need my suit anymore._

An earsplitting shriek filled the air, and Peter was spurred into action. Thrusting his hands out, he shot webs at the girls and pulled them off the street in the nick of time. But, as with all new methods of rescue, there were still a few details to hammer out. Peter had pulled the girls a little too hard, and they were now flying straight at him. Entirely unprepared for this sudden barrage of female bodies, the young man was knocked off his feet and landed hard on the pavement, both girls ending up on top of him.

His hood had been knocked off somewhere along the way, and now everyone who had been so eager to read about him was now looking down at him with a mixture of awe and amusement. Peter's blush returned in full force.

The girls stirred on his chest, and then turned to look at their rescuer. Their jaws dropped.

_This is extremely awkward._

"Um… ladies? If – if it's not too much to ask, would you mind standing up? My ribs are kind of broken, and this isn't helping them much."

Murmuring apologies, they rolled off him. He stood up carefully, grimacing as his back protested loudly.

"Thanks," he said, helping the shocked girls to their feet. He looked around uncertainly at the crowd of awestruck citizens. Smiling uncomfortably, he bent down and picked up his books from where he'd dropped them.

"Uh… hi everyone," he said, feeling the need to break the silence. "H - how're you today?"

Wincing as he realized just how idiotic he must sound, he decided to escape while he still could. He said goodbye hurriedly, and was about to cross the street (looking both ways, of course), when someone spoke.

"Way to go, Peter."

He looked back in surprise. Of course he knew that people would know his name, but to hear it like this… it was rather unreal.

Most of the onlookers were smiling at him now. A few voiced their agreement with the statement. And then one of the girls, a pretty redhead who reminded him painfully of MJ, came over and hugged him.

"Thank you so much. For everything," she whispered in his ear before pulling away.

Peter had never been so shocked, so happy, in all his life. He had been afraid the people of New York would hate him, shun him, avoid him on the streets. But now, after this… Maybe things wouldn't be so bad after all.

He smiled genuinely at them and nodded his gratitude, then turned and continued on his way to the Daily Bugle.

* * *

It was business as usual, if a little more busy, in the hectic newsroom. It was the first time Peter had actually felt grateful for the never-ending chaos. It gave him a chance to slip through unnoticed.

Betty wasn't at her desk, so Peter squared his shoulders, took a deep breath, and walked into Mr. Jameson's office.

"Parker! Peter! Spiderman! Whatever your name is! Get over here!"

Peter gulped. He could tell right now, this was not going to be pretty.

Jonah Jameson was seated behind his enormous desk, phone in one hand, cigar in the other. His authoritative aura and the way everyone else in the room seemed to shrink from him made him look not unlike some tyrannical dictator. The man who could stop trains, hold up walls, beat up armed criminals, and conquer insane supervillains had to try very hard not to cower under Jameson's accusing stare.

"I don't care how you do it, just make sure it's done!" he barked into the phone as he motioned to Peter to sit down.

"No, I will not settle for green! How many times do I have to tell you, Spiderman's suit is red and blue, not green and black!"

Peter raised his eyebrows. What the heck was Jameson talking about?

"Ooh, poor baby. Your printers are out of red and blue? Well, go down to Staples and get some new ink cartridges! And make it snappy, I've got a hot new story coming up!"

He slammed the phone down and fixed Peter with a predatory glare.

"So _that's_ how you get such good photos of Spiderman! I _knew_ something funny was going on!"

Peter opened his mouth to speak, but Jameson cut him off.

"And that's _also_ why you kept saying that he was a hero! Didn't want me to print the truth, did you?"

This time, Peter opened his mouth in preparation to start shouting, but once again Jameson cut him off.

"What I don't understand is why the police didn't lock you up! Oh well, better not look a gift horse in the mouth. You, sir, are going to give me an exclusive interview."

"W – what?" Peter spluttered.

"An interview! What are you, deaf?" he shouted.

"I'm not giving you an interview!"

"You are if you want to keep your job!"

Jameson had him there. Peter slumped in his chair, and Jonah knew he had won.

"Anna!" he barked. A pretty young brunette poked her head in.

"Yes, boss?"

"Get in here, you're interviewing Spiderman!"

The woman walked over and examined Peter with a kind eye.

"Anna, this is Spiderman. Spiderman, this is Anna."

Peter stood up and smiled weakly, offering his hand to shake. She took it and smiled back.

"Now that you've been acquainted, get to work!" He turned to leave, then turned back around.

"Anna!" She jumped and looked at him.

"Don't mess this up." His tone was almost menacing. He stared at her for several moments, and then left the room, yelling at Betty to get the mayor on the phone.

**Thanks to all my reviewers: ilovethestorys, Mr. Man, RevolutionChick, deppfreak, conan98002, htbthomas, IcyWaters, Delia Ra'Nar, Owl, Spacegirl07, hedi, jjonahjameson, and Elisa. If I left anyone off, I'm really really really sorry!**

**REVIEWS WOULD BE LOVERLY!**


	5. Chapter 5

Peter sat, his brow furrowed in confusion, as he watched Anna sift through the mess on Mr. Jameson's desk in search of paper and a pencil. She already had a tape recorder set up, so Peter didn't really understand the necessity of writing utensils, but then, he wasn't a reporter.

"What was that, just now? Why did Mr. Jameson say that to you?"

The young woman looked up and laughed.

"Let's just say that I have a history of putting Mr. Jameson's 'criminals' –" she made little quotation marks in the air with her fingers, " – in a more sympathetic light than he would prefer. The only reason he gave me this interview is because all the other reporters are either doing something else, or are on vacation."

Peter was about to speak again when Anna let out a loud, "AHA!" and emerged from an enormous pile of cigar boxes with a pencil clutched in her fist. She sat down in her boss's swivel chair, cleared some space on the desk, and looked at Peter.

"Ready to begin?"

The young man shrugged indifferently. "As ready as I'll ever be."

"Good!" And she pressed a button on the tape recorder.

"So, Spiderman. Or Peter, which do you prefer?"

"Uh… Peter, I guess."

"All right, Peter. First things first, how did you get your powers? You know, the webs, the strength, all that."

"Um… I was on a field trip in high school, and we – uh – we went to this science center where they were doing DNA testing on spiders. One of the spiders it – it got out and bit me. I got pretty sick, and then the next day I was like this."

"Hmm… And how old were you when this happened?"

"I'd just turned seventeen."

"Mmhm… and your uncle was killed very shortly after your seventeenth birthday. Any connections or thoughts on that?"

Peter stared down at his shoes determinedly. After a long silence, he finally spoke.

"He was shot when he refused to give his car to a robber. A robber I could have stopped, if I hadn't been so selfish."

He looked up at Anna, eyes swimming with tears.

"One of the last things he ever said to me was, 'with great power comes great responsibility'. And I threw it in his face."

The next words were spoken so softly that Anna had to strain to hear it.

"I live by those words now."

Peter stared off into space for a long moment, and Anna cleared her throat loudly. He jerked awake and looked around at her.

"Sorry," he said, shifting in his seat.

"It's perfectly all right, Peter. Now, on to the next question."

The interview continued for what seemed to be an age. There were many times when Peter was sorely tempted to just leave and get on the next flight to Australia. Maybe he could hide out with the Aborigines.

Finally, at long last, it was over. Anna stopped the recording and said, in an entirely too cheerful tone of voice, "There! That wasn't so bad, was it?"

Peter laughed humorlessly. "I bet Jonah will have fun converting that into the life story of a desperate criminal."

The young woman giggled and came around the desk to perch on the edge. "Oh, don't worry about that! I've got a few tricks up my sleeve."

Seeing Peter's quizzical expression, she said, "All you gotta do is wait until about two minutes before the deadline to hand in your story, and then he doesn't have time to edit it. Then your story gets run exactly the way you want it!"

She winked and patted him on the shoulder. "I'll make you look good, have no doubt!"

She slipped off the desk and proceeded to gather her belongings. Rising to help her, Peter couldn't help but say, "Won't Jonah get mad at you?"

Looking utterly unconcerned, she replied, "Oh yes, he'll probably fire me."

"What?" Peter squeaked. "I can't let you lose your job because of some stupid interview!"

She waved him off. "I was going to resign anyway. This paper is going down the tubes, the way it always prints these lies! This just gives me a chance to go out with a bang."

Shaking his head bemusedly, Peter handed her the notes she had been taking. He caught a glimpse of the words 'burdened at a young age' and 'depressed and lonely' before she snatched the paper from him.

"No peeking," she scolded, looking so fierce as she looked up at him through her wire – framed glasses that he had to laugh.

"And just what do you find so amusing, young man?" she said, poking him in the chest with a finger that looked like it had never seen nail polish in its existence.

"Nothing," he choked out, struggling to keep from bursting into loud guffaws.

"Good," she said, though she looked as though she was fighting a smile as well. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got your life story to write within the next twenty – four hours. See you later, alligator."

And with that childish farewell, she turned and left the room.

* * *

Peter breathed a sigh of relief as he stepped out of the Daily Bugle onto the crowded sidewalk. He was finally free! A sudden rumbling in his stomach reminded him of the fact that he hadn't eaten since his breakfast of stale saltine crackers he had swiped from a sidewalk café. It was now late afternoon, and he felt like he could eat a cow.

Searching his pockets for money, he came up with some lint, the nub of a chewed pencil, a scrap of paper with some equations on it, and thirty – seven cents. Sighing, he set off in the direction of the Moondance Café.

_Maybe Enrique will let me work for a meal._

Feeling slightly nauseated, Peter realized that starving would probably be a less painful way to die than food poisoning from Enrique's dismal cooking.

_I'll order something deep - fried. Enrique can't mess that up, he's practically deep – fried himself._

Suddenly, police sirens blared a few blocks away. Pete's hooded head came up. Should he follow them? Should he try to help?

_Is that even a question for me?_

He dashed into a nearby alley, articles of clothing falling to the ground.

_I may not need it anymore, but my costume is still darn cool._

Webslinging had never felt so good. This was what he was meant to do; the air was where he was meant to be. He found the disturbance immediately; a car chase down Fifth Avenue. It was an easy job, and he was soon swinging away, but any doubts he had harbored about whether or not he would continue his acts of heroism were erased from his mind.

He arrived at the Moondance Café to find the press waiting for him. Somehow, they had found out when his shift was, and had organized an ambush.

_Whether you like it or not Pete,_ he told himself,_ you're a celebrity now. Better get used to this._

He shouldered his way through the crowd, reminding himself to stock up on hoodies the next time he went shopping. They came in handy at times like these when he didn't want to be recognized.

He entered the restaurant and stared around wide – eyed. It was packed. He had never seen half this many people here at one time. There was a waiting line stretching clear out the front door.

"Oh my god…"

Customers gave him curious looks as he pushed past, obviously wondering why he had a hood on inside. He escaped into the kitchen and looked around for Enrique. Finally spotting him stirring a vat of chicken noodle soup, he hurried over and pulled his hood off.

"Enrique, what are all these people doing here? What is going on?"

The enormous Puerto Rican broke into a huge grin at the sight of Peter, and put an arm around the boy's shoulders as if they had been friends all their lives.

"What's goin' on? Why, you, o' course!"

"What?"

"I'm thinking of payin' you extra, for the publicity ya know?"

"As much as I'd like that, you're not suggesting that all these people are here to see – " he gulped. " – me… are you?"

"O' course! You're famous now! Everyone wants to see you! C'mon, put on your apron…"

Peter's blood ran cold. "Oh, no. Oh no, I am _not _going out there! I don't care_ how_ much you pay me, I wouldn't go out there and serve those people if you gave me the crown jewels of England!"

Enrique gave Peter a patronizing look and said, "Pete, my boy, you'll do this if ya want to keep your job. And don't think it'll be different someplace else, because it won't be. People will find you, people will see you, and then it'll just be this all over again." He gestured toward the kitchen doors with one pudgy hand.

"So ya might as well just get it over with, and give them what they want, 'stead of running away and putting it off. The longer you wait, the harder it'll be."

For such a bad cook, Enrique really could be annoyingly sensible.

Groaning in frustration, Peter pulled off his hoodie and tied the waiter's apron around his waist. Enrique beamed with pleasure, and pounded his golden boy on the back jovially. Peter grabbed a pad and pen, took a deep, calming breath, and entered the packed restaurant, his head held high.

**Thanks to all my reviewers: deppfreak, RevolutionChick, IcyWaters, unknownshadow, conan98002, Owl, SFBKludge, Delia Ra'Nar, htbthomas, and Locathah. Sorry if I missed anyone.**

**PLEASE REVIEW!**


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Sorry for the long wait! School started up again (sobs), and the red and blue muse swung away for a little while. Hope you like this chapter. Cheers!**

A hundred pairs of eyes were fixed on him. No sound was heard, except for the tinny clatter of someone dropping a fork.

_Oookay. Leaving now._

Peter turned around and made for the door, but ran straight into Enrique who had just emerged from it, and was now standing with his arms across his enormous chest like some kind of café bouncer. Peter looked at him pleadingly, but the man just shook his head slightly. Peter gulped. He was obviously not getting out of this one.

Slowly he turned around and surveyed the room nervously. Children gaped, women giggled, men glared… Wiping his sweaty palms on his jeans, Peter whispered to Enrique, "Am _I_ supposed to serve all these people?"

"O' course y'are, they sure as hell didn't come here for the food!"

Despite the situation, Peter couldn't help but snort with laughter at the cook's utter lack of pride. Several people looked rather surprised. Obviously, they had not thought that superheroes could snort.

Deciding that the sooner he started, the sooner he'd finish, Peter took up his pad and pen and walked on wobbly legs to the nearest table.

"G – good evening folks, what can I get for you tonight?" he stammered, putting on his best fake smile.

The adults simply stared at him, but one of their children, a blond – haired little boy of about five, pulled on his apron and beckoned him closer. Peter crouched down until he was level with the boy, who cupped a hand to Peter's ear and whispered, "My daddy'th too shy to thay it, but he wantth ta thank you for thaving him. Remember? You thtopped that bad man from hurtin him."

Peter's eyes widened, and he stared at the little boy for a while after he pulled away. Then he turned to the boy's father. Now that he thought about it, the man did look kind of familiar. He smiled and nodded.

"Yeah, I do remember."

The boy flung himself at Peter, hugging him tightly. The young man's arms closed instinctively around the little body.

"Thank you, Mithter Thpiderman!"

Peter's surprised eyes found those of the boy's mother. She smiled at him, her gratitude and joy shining through clear as day. Her husband looked vaguely embarrassed, but nodded his thanks to the revealed hero.

"Y - you're welcome…" Peter whispered, his voice raw with emotion. The boy released him, and Peter stood up and cleared his throat, which had somehow gotten a lump in it.

"Well," he chuckled. "That's a first for me."

The mother reached over and patted him on the arm.

"And it won't be a last, I can promise you that."

She was right. As Peter made his way through the tables, taking orders, he realized that most of these people had just come to show their gratitude. They would shake his hand, gawk a little, thank him, have a cup of coffee or a cookie (nothing that involved any _real_ cooking), and go, generally leaving a huge tip. The whole thing seemed rather unreal. The first time Peter came to clear a table and found a twenty-dollar bill sitting underneath the saltshaker, he didn't know exactly what to do. On the one hand, he hated to think that he was accepting charity. On the other hand, he _really_ needed the money. He was late with his rent, he needed new clothes, he was in debt over his college tuition, and his moped was still missing. Finally, face burning with shame, he pocketed the money and slunk off, trying not to think about it too much.

Of course, everyone couldn't like him. A few customers were complete jerks, but Peter was used to that. The gratitude and kindness of everyone else was like a healing balm over the deep, scarred wounds from six years of fighting a thankless battle.

Two hours passed. The young man was just beginning to relax, and become a little less self – conscious when his spider sense tingled. He needed to go, now.

Without an explanation, Peter ripped off his apron, dropped the pad and pen, and dashed out of the restaurant, ignoring everyone's bewildered looks. He sprinted into a nearby alley, and five seconds later swung out of it, red and blue suit barely visible in the dim moonlight.

Letting his instincts guide him, Peter headed toward Broadway. He reached it quickly, and swung into a side street. In the pool of light from a nearby streetlamp, Peter could see three men wielding pocket knives, surrounding a young woman backed up against the wall. When one of the men lunged at her, Peter jumped into action. Webbing the attackers, he pulled them away from the woman and into the street. He jumped down and advanced upon them, balling his fists up in preparation for the first punch. One man looked up, saw who was striding towards them, turned, and tried to run. His legs tangled in the webline hanging from his back, and he came crashing to the ground, knocking himself unconscious on the hard pavement. The other two brandished their knives as threateningly as they could while quivering with fear. It was almost pathetic how easily Peter disarmed them, knocked them out, and webbed them to the streetlamp for the police to find.

Only then did he turn to look at the young woman whom he had saved. And he found himself wishing he hadn't turned, for at the sight of her, his mind was filled with regret and sadness and what ifs.

MJ. If she had been wearing a ball gown, standing in a room full of flowers, with the sun shining down on her, she could not have been more beautiful than she was at that moment, standing on the sidewalk and staring at Peter with all the surprise, awe, and sadness in the world.

"Peter…" she whispered, unfathomable emotions welling from her heart at that one word.

Suddenly, the red and blue barrier between them was too much for Peter to handle. He peeled off the mask that had hid him from her for so very long, and stepped forward into the light. She gasped, as though she hadn't been able to believe the truth without seeing it with her own eyes.

"I - I'm sorry Mary – Jane. I should have told you, but I… I wanted to protect you."

She pressed her lips together, trying desperately to keep the tears under control, and stepped towards him. Putting her hand on his cheek, she shook her head sadly and whispered, "Oh, Peter…"

He leaned into her touch, forgetting for a moment the last time her hand had touched his face. He had missed yet another one of her performances, had tried to explain, and she had slapped him. That had been three years ago, and he had seen her only on billboards and posters until now. He gazed into her eyes as she spoke again, desperate to drink in as much of her beauty as he could before he had to leave her again.

"So those 'disturbances'… they were all real, weren't they? Only you weren't delayed by them. You were stopping them."

There was no need to answer.

"And… you said you were protecting me, by not telling me. And you were protecting me again by…"

She sobbed, and removed her hand. His face felt oddly cold without it.

"… by refusing to love me."

He looked down, blinking furiously, and nodded shortly.

"Yes. I… would never have forgiven myself if one of my enemies found out about you and… hurt you."

She grabbed his chin and pulled his face up until his eyes met hers. They were glinting with anger.

"And you never thought to let _me_ in on this decision?" she snapped, and Peter flinched. "I'm a grown woman, I can decide whether or not I want to be in danger to be with the man I love! Oh, Peter!"

And she kissed him. The young man froze, his mind in overload. What was going on?

_Oh God, I'm kissing a married woman. A woman with a husband and a newborn child at home._

And before he could even fully realize what was happening, he pushed her away. He stepped back quickly, the hurt look on MJ's face forever burned into his memories.

"I'm sorry Mary – Jane," he apologized for the second time that night. "But I just can't do this. You – you have a husband. A child. A family who loves you and needs you. I can't be the cause of their pain."

He picked up his mask and slipped it over his head as Mary – Jane looked on in disbelief.

"We had our chance MJ. Let John and your daughter have theirs."

And he disappeared into the night, alone yet again.

**Thanks sooo much for all the reviews! They help so much!**

**PLEASE REVIEW!**


	7. Chapter 7

_BLIIIINNNG! BLIIIIINNNG!_

Peter groaned and buried his head under his pillow in a futile attempt to block out the shrill ringing coming from the infernal contraption sitting on his bedside table. Who in the world could be calling him so early in the morning? Who in the world was even _up _this early? Who in the world even had his phone number?

He cracked an eye open and looked at the clock. 5:13.

"Oh God…" he groaned. "Whoever you are, just go away…"

But the ringing continued incessantly until finally, Peter gave up. Reaching over, he grabbed the phone, which was at that moment the bane of his existence, and greeted whoever was on the other end irritably.

"Hello?"

"Peter! It's Anna. I hope I didn't wake you up."

"Oh _no_, I _usually_ get up at 5 in the morning. I need plenty of time to take a shower, do my hair, put on my makeup…"

The infernal woman completely missed the sarcasm in Peter's voice.

"Oh, well that's good then! I just called to tell you that my little strategy didn't really work as I planned."

It was way too early for Peter to remember exactly what strategy Anna was talking about.

"Jonah just booted me out of his office and said that I could say goodbye to those Christmas fruitcakes he sends me every year. I've never actually _gotten_ one of those fruitcakes, so it wasn't really a shattering loss…"

_Please God, let this rambling end soon._

"But anyway, I decided to take your story someplace else. If Jonah didn't want it, that was _his_ loss. Sooooo…"

She paused for dramatic tension, which was completely lost on the nearly unconscious young man to whom she was speaking.

"… I went to the New York Times."

"Wooowww…" Peter yawned.

"Isn't it exciting?" Anna squeaked. Peter held the phone away from his ear as she had one of those 'ditzy fits', as he called them. Even from a foot away, he could hear her squealing. When she had calmed down somewhat, he returned the phone to his ear.

"Yes, Anna. It's absolutely amazing."

"And you wanna know something else?"

_Not really, but it appears I have no choice._

"They want to copyright it!"

"Who's 'they', and what are they copyrighting?" he asked in tired confusion.

"The owners of the New York Times want to copyright your story!"

"My st – " Peter slammed his head into his pillow. "Anna, that's like copyrighting my _life_."

"So? Everybody's going to want to write books about you, make movies, make toys…_ Somebody's _got to have the rights, why not the New York Times?"

Suddenly, Peter was wide-awake. "Books? Movies? _Toys!_"

"Of course! What did you expect?"

In all actuality, Peter didn't know what he had expected.

"Anna, I don't know anything about all this legal copyright crap. All I know is that I'm very uncomfortable with the idea of somebody making a movie about my life."

"Well, if you don't want it done, just say so. It's _your_ story, you'll always be able to veto things."

"Okay…"

"Look at it this way. Every time somebody writes a book, a script, or makes a game or a toy about you, _you_ will get paid. And you'll have the right to say no to any new idea that comes along. Understand?"

"Yeah, I guess so."

"So, do you want them to copyright it?"

"Um… sure. But I'd kind of like to meet these people before I sign my life away. Literally."

"Good plan. I'll call you later to set up a time. Don't forget to read your own article today! I'm very proud of it; I think it's one of my best. Now go back to bed, sleepyhead. You've got a busy day ahead of you."

Apparently, the sarcasm hadn't gone over her head after all.

* * *

Three hours later, Peter was walking along the crowded sidewalks to class. He was trying to think about the whole copyrighting thing, and what sort of impact it would have on him, but he couldn't get MJ's disbelieving, hurt face out of his head. Had he done the wrong thing? Could he have spared her this pain?

_No. I did what I had to do. She's safe now. Her family is safe. And if I stay away from her, sooner or later… she'll forget me._

A deep, burning pain tore away at his heart at the words. He blinked furiously to stop an onslaught of tears. Fiercely, he pushed his emotions into the smallest corner of his mind and locked them there. MJ was gone, dead to him. The girl next door had run away with his heart, and he feared he would never be whole again.

A newsstand caught his eye, and the depressing topic was yanked from his mind. He stopped suddenly, and the man walking behind him collided with his back.

"Watch it, buddy!" the man snarled. Peter didn't even notice him. He was staring, wide – eyed, at that day's edition of the New York Times.

There it was. Blazoned across the front cover.** THE REAL LIFE OF PETER PARKER, THE MAN BEHIND SPIDERMAN'S MASK**. Peter's stomach lurched unpleasantly. He hadn't really given much thought to the fact that his life, and everything about it, would be laid out on paper for everyone to read. It made him feel horribly exposed, and he unconsciously wrapped his arms around himself.

"You okay there, son?"

The grizzled old man selling the newspapers peered curiously at Peter's hooded form. The boy suddenly realized how strange he must look, standing stock still in front of a newsstand, staring at the New York Times as if it were his death sentence, wearing a hoodie and hugging himself.

"Y – yeah. Yeah, I'm fine."

"You wan' anything?"

Peter hesitated, then shook his head. He had better ways to spend his money than on a story he already knew.

* * *

Harry was drunk. Again. In fact, he was always drunk. His philosophy was that if you just kept drinking, you would never get a hangover. Of course, it made living rather difficult.

Ever since Otto Octavius's failed experiment and subsequent eight – legged rampage, Harry had been holed up in his mansion, trying to forget. Forget what? you might ask. Everything, he would answer. His own inferiority, his weakness and shame, his failures, Mary – Jane, his father's death… But above all, the thing he wanted to completely eradicate from his mind, whether by alcohol or by suicide, was the sight of his best friend's face emerging from underneath that hated red and blue mask.

Peter. The epitome of geekiness. Glasses, backpack and all. Not once could Harry have imagined what the boy who won all the science fairs would evolve into.

Murderer. Traitor. Liar. Harry couldn't think of everything foul that described him. But he could think of quite a few good curses.

So Norman Osborn had been the Green Goblin. So what? Did that give Peter the right to kill him? Had that given him the right to comfort Harry over the grave of the man he had murdered with his bare hands? Harry clenched his teeth and crushed the fragile whiskey glass he held, ignoring the pain as blood trickled down his hand. He hated Peter so much, so very, very much…

And yet he had not betrayed him. He had not revealed his secret for all these years. And even Harry himself could not explain why. Maybe it was because Peter, despite his traitorous ways, _had_ been his best friend. Maybe Harry was trying to prove he was the better man. Whatever it was, it was strong enough to keep Harry silent.

But now that the secret was out, Harry could act. The press would be keeping close tabs on the young man who saved the city every day. Wherever he went, whomever he met, whatever he did, Harry would know. And Harry would make his life miserable.

For though he did not think he could stand to harm Peter himself, Harry had no such qualms about hurting Peter's friends.

**A/N: Like Peter, I know diddly – squat about legal stuff and copyrights and all that, so please don't kill me if I get it all wrong. I know some of you wanted to read Anna's article, and I'll try to fit it in somewhere. If I can't, I'll just write it anyway, and then stick it in as a random chapter. **

**Thanks sooo much to all my wonderful reviewers:** **Locathah, Delia Ra'Nar, deppfreak, RSegovia, ilovethestorys, RevolutionChick (your duct tape threat worked, wink wink), conan98002, IcyWaters, shadowknight, and htbthomas.**

**PLEASE REVIEW! **


	8. Chapter 8

Anna called just as Peter was about to leave for his nightly patrol. Still slightly annoyed at the phone for the incident that morning, the young man picked it up with slightly more force than was necessary. Cursing at the dents he had made in the plastic, Peter put it to his ear.

"Hello?"

"Hi Peter! It's Anna again. Are you awake this time?"

He grunted. He was too tired to even attempt politeness.

"That sounds like a 'no'. I'll be quick then."

Peter seriously doubted that.

"Okay. I was thinking over our situation here, or rather, _your_ situation, and I realized that if _you_ just copyrighted your story, and then got an agent to handle all the technical stuff, it would be _so _much easier than fooling around with the New York Times people."

"Why would it be easier?"

"Well, for one thing, a single person would be easier to deal with than an entire company. Another thing is that that person wouldn't expect as big a cut of the profits as an organization as huge as the New York Times would. Also, if you just sell the copyrights off, you'll lose all control, which is a big no – no. You could just ask for a percentage of the profits, but unless it's the gross profit, that could be dangerous… "

Peter was getting a headache. How ironic it was that he could negotiate his way through complex quantum physics equations, but couldn't understand a word of what was coming out of Anna's mouth. **(A/N: I'm having the same trouble here! I have no idea what the heck I'm talking about! Thank you _so_ much, Locathah, for helping me out a lot, but let's face it. I'm never going to become a lawyer.)**

"Whatever. Sounds great. Where would I find said agent?"

"Well, I know a few people who are pretty capable. Reid Denis over at Wilton's is good, but he wouldn't come cheap. And then there's always me."

"You?" Peter asked incredulously.

"I took some courses on this stuff in college!" she said, sounding defensive. "And besides, you already know me, so there wouldn't be that whole awkward 'getting acquainted' thing."

Peter massaged his forehead with his fingers. This whole thing was getting way out of hand. Why couldn't he just go back to doing what he'd always done? Why did they have to drag all this legal stuff into it? And why was Anna so bent on helping him?

"Why should I trust you? What's in it for you?"

He realized that that wasn't the most tactful way to put it, and any normal person would have been offended. Anna didn't seem to realize this however, and she plowed right ahead in her normal insufferable fashion.

"Well, for one thing, I've kind of been on the lookout for a job ever since His Crankyness, Mr. Jonah Jameson kicked me out of his office. I'm not going to ask for much, just enough money to pay rent and get food. Maybe a little extra here and there to buy some fruitcakes to replace the ones Jameson never sent… And as for the whole trusting thing, you have more reason to trust me than some random guy from an up city law firm."

Peter had to admit that she had a point. Handing all this crap over to Anna to deal with would certainly make his life a lot easier. And she had never given him a reason _not_ to trust her. So it was either this… or dealing with it on his own.

"All right. You've got yourself a deal."

"Great! I'll just write up some papers and bring them around for you to sign."

"Okay. Bye."

He hung up and swung away into the city, relieved to finally be doing something he actually understood.

* * *

_Sitting across from Spiderman, I am struck by how young and innocent he looks. He seems like the kind of boy who would break if you hit him. But the newly fading bruises on his face prove me wrong._

_Peter Parker has had it rough. His parents were murdered on the streets when he was only five. The man who did it was never found. He lived with his aunt and uncle through high school. And at the end of his senior year, when Peter was only seventeen, his life changed forever._

Harry threw the newspaper across the room. What was this crap? Why were they showing a murderer any sympathy? Didn't they know what this freak had done to his father?

Of course, the press didn't know that Norman Osborn had been the Green Goblin. That was one thing Harry had to thank Peter for, however begrudgingly. His former best friend had not revealed that truth.

Harry's vendetta against Peter was not going very well. He had forgotten just how few people Peter had left to love. What was the use of a hovercraft and pumpkin bombs if there was no one around worth terrorizing? Harry realized that he would just have to sit and be patient. Peter couldn'tstay friendless forever.

And in the meantime, Harry had some green armor to polish.

**A/N: Please don't kill me for the horrifically long wait, or for the shortness of this chapter! Writer's block is a –insert word for female dog here-. I hope this chapter is okay; needless to say, I had some trouble with it. Again, sorry for the delay. **

**Thanks so much to all my reviewers: EstelKid, deppfreak, Owl, Goth Child of Zyon, Sheba:p, Axmodefred, Kevageit, hedi, Delia Ra'Nar, ASuperHeroAtHeart, anonymous, RevolutionChick, ilovethestorys, Icy Waters, Rsegovia, jjonahjameson, Locathah, and htbthomas.**

**PLEASE REVIEW!1 **


	9. Chapter 9

"Okay, Peter. Here are some papers for you to sign. I recommend you read them first, though, just to make sure I got everything right."

Anna stood outside the door to his apartment, a manila folder in her outstretched hand. Eying it carefully, he took it from her grasp and flipped it open. Skimming through the first page, he was bombarded by a king's ransom of legal jargon that threatened to bring his headache back in full force. Placing it quickly on his bedside table like a contaminated piece of meat, he turned back to Anna and gave her a small smile.

"Thanks. I'll have it back to you in a day or so."

She nodded. Peter was about to close the door when she spoke again.

"Hey Pete, you want to go get lunch or something?"

He stared at her in disbelief. He knew his mouth was hanging open, but he couldn't really do anything about it in his present state of absolute shock.

"You mean… with you?"

Obviously picking up on the young man's hesitation, Anna quickly explained, "It's not a date or anything. I just thought that maybe you'd like to get out of this dismal apartment and have some fun for a change."

At the word 'dismal', she eyed the rusted sink, the collapsed bed, the one lone chair, and the various pots positioned to catch leaks as if they had personally insulted her.

"Um – uh… well…" Peter stammered intelligently. "… okay."

She beamed. "Great! I know an awesome Chinese place just down the road. Are you allergic to water chestnuts?"

Peter raised an eyebrow as he grabbed his keys and wallet.

"I haven't had that much experience with water chestnuts, to tell you the truth."

Peter stuffed the items into the pockets of his jeans as they made their way down the stairs and out onto the crowded sidewalk.

"Oh, well we'll just have to hope that you're not. This place has the best water chestnuts in the entire world; you just have to try them. Of course, their other stuff isn't that bad either…" Anna chattered away brightly, leading the way to the restaurant. Peter had forgotten his hoodie, and was determinedly ignoring the stares and whispers surrounding them as they made their way down the street. Anna disappeared into a small building with a sign sporting Chinese symbols above it. He followed her inside and was immediately assaulted by hot steam and the smell of cooking vegetables.

They emerged from the restaurant five minutes later, toting a full bag of food. Anna turned to Peter and said, "So. Where to?"

He shrugged. "I don't know. Wherever you want to go."

She put a finger to her lips pensively and scrunched her eyebrows together in thought.

"Well… Central Park is really nice this time of year, but it's practically on the other side of the city…"

Peter grinned mischievously and grabbed Anna's hand, pulling her into a nearby alley.

"Peter, what - ?"

"You'll see. Hold onto the bag." He handed it to the confused young woman, and then wrapped an arm around her waist. She opened her mouth in surprise, and then shrieked as they took flight.

He held her to him tightly, grinning as they swung through the city. Her fear turned to amazement, and she laughed excitedly.

"You get to do this every day? Lucky duck!"

He chuckled. "Don't you mean 'lucky spider'?"

She rolled her eyes. "You know what I meant, you cad."

It only took a few minutes to reach the park. They landed gently on the grass, and Anna looked at Peter in amazement.

"Wow. That was a lot better than the subway. You should go into the transportation business. It probably pays a lot better than saving damsels in distress."

Laughing, he said, "Probably. But it wouldn't be nearly as fun."

They sat down on a nearby bench and took out their food. Water chestnuts for Anna, beef lo mein for Peter.

"Wanna try some?" Anna inquired, holding up a soggy chestnut with her chopsticks. He eyed it with distaste.

"As a rule, I avoid things that might make me go into epileptic shock."

"Oh, come on! They're not _that_ bad!"

"They certainly look it. Lo mein?"

They kept up the light – hearted chatter as they ate, simply enjoying each other's company and the beautiful day. Peter couldn't believe he was enjoying himself so much. He hadn't spent time with a friend, just having fun since… well, since high school.

Their conversation was interrupted by the loud blare of sirens coming from a nearby street. Peter stiffened and turned toward the sound. He turned back to Anna, not looking forward to leaving her in the lurch, to find her smiling at him.

"I'll protect your food for you. Of course, I might have to raid it every once in a while, but that's just an incentive for you save the damsel in distress quickly."

He grinned and took off. Pulling his civilian clothes off and dumping them behind a bush, he pulled his mask on and swung after the police cars.

* * *

Tony Luthor was having a bad day. Not only had his attempt at robbing the bank gone horribly awry, now he had what seemed to be half the police force in Manhattan – _and_ the Wall – Crawler after him.

Turning to his friend, Joey Frangione, who was driving their stolen vehicle like a maniac through the crowded streets, he swore colorfully and pulled out a pistol.

"Whoa! Whaddayou think you're doing with that?" Joey shouted, risking a nervous glance at the gun in his partner's shaking hands.

"I'm getting these morons off our backs, that's what I'm doing." Tony tried to sound confidant, but failed spectacularly. Crawling into the backseat and smashing the back window with his elbow (which hurt quite a bit more than he thought it would), the young man tried to hold the gun steady as he aimed at the nearest police car. He started firing erratically, not intending to hurt anyone, but just trying to get them off their tail. The cars swerved as gunshots filled the air.

Tony stopped to load, and inspected the police cars still hot on their tail. Not one of them had a single bullet hole in it.

_I'm a worse shot than I thought,_ he thought wryly as he fumbled with the gun. Suddenly, the roof of the car buckled with a tremendous thump. Something was on top of them!

Joey started swerving madly, trying to throw whatever it was off. But his efforts were in vain. They yelled with surprise when a red and blue clad visitor joined them inside the car.

"I'm not interrupting anything, am I?" inquired Spiderman sweetly before he lunged for Joey. Pushing him out of the way, the superhero slammed his foot down on the brake, bringing the car to a screeching halt. The police cars behind them barely managed to avoid rear – ending them as they left smoking tire tracks on the asphalt.

"Sorry to break up the party, but you kids should know better than to steal and drive."

Tony didn't know what came over him. All he knew was that he had the gun, loaded and ready in his hands. He brought it up, and saw Spiderman turn towards him, his hand outstretched, trying to reach the gun before something terrible happened. And then his finger, oh that rebellious finger, that went right ahead and did what his brain was screaming for it not to do, tightened on the trigger.

The gunshot exploded deafeningly in the enclosed space of the car. Joey was shouting, Tony was screaming, and Spiderman was yelling in agony. The young superhero clutched his arm with one gloved hand, curses in more than one language spilling from his mouth. Tony stared, wide – eyed at the blood seeping from between the man's fingers, hardly able to believe what he had just done.

Growling in anger, Spiderman reached towards Tony with his good arm and yanked the gun away from him. Tumbling out of the car onto the street, he handed it to a confused policeman and took off, hugging his injured arm to his chest as he used his left one to shoot webbing.

Tony and Joey didn't put up a fight as they were handcuffed and pushed roughly into a police car. They had seen enough of crime to last them a lifetime.

* * *

Anna knew something was wrong when she saw Peter come walking up, gripping his right arm tightly and looking paler than usual. He sat down with a grimace and turned towards her. Seeing her questioning gaze, he said, "Some punk kid got a shot at me back there. Only grazed me, though. My ego is hurt more than anything."

She smiled slightly and said, "You were probably just having an off moment or something. I wouldn't worry about it. But let me see that arm! We can't have you getting an infection or something. Imagine how ridiculous that would be, if they had to amputate it! I can just see the headlines now…"

She spread her hands out animatedly. "The Amazing Spider – Missing – Five – Limbs – Man!"

Despite himself, Peter laughed. "That would definitely be amusing. At least for you. _You_ wouldn't have to have your arm cut off."

She grinned cheekily up at him as she rolled back the bloodstained sleeves of his shirt and costume.

"You've never heard of schadenfreude, have you my friend?"

"As a matter of fact, I took German in high school. That's making fun of another person's pain or something isn't it? You evil woman."

"I never said I was perfect."

"And I never said I was either, but I wouldn't laugh if _you_ were getting your arm chopped off."

"And that's why you're the superhero, and I'm the reporter."

She pulled his sleeves back down and said, "Well, I'm no doctor, but I think you'll live. Put a Care – Bears Band – Aid on it when you get home."

"Sorry, I'm all out."

She sighed and rolled her eyes. "_Okaaay_. I guess a regular Band – Aid would do. Now, are you going to give me a ride home, or am I going to have to revert to the subway?"

* * *

Harry flipped through the tabloid gleefully. Every page held a better and better photograph of Spiderman and his little girlfriend. The two lovebirds had been totally oblivious to the various photographers who had captured their date on film.

This was the chance he'd been waiting for. Anticipation made it hard for him to sit still. Tomorrow, he would act.

Anna Luis. It was a nice name. Flowed off the tongue easily. She looked like a nice girl, too. But then, Peter always did know how to pick them.

It was too bad really. Such anice looking girl didn't deserve to die. But that's what you get for hanging out with the Goblin's worst enemy.

**A/N: Hope you liked this chapter. I tried to make it extra long to make up for the last one. Ooo, chemistry between Anna and Peter! I think their banter is a tad bit on the stupid side, but whatever.**

**Thanks to all my reviewers: closetfan, hedi, ilovethestorys, IcyWaters, deppfreak, Goth Child of Zyon, funvince, Locathah, and htbthomas.**

**PLEASE REVIEW! **


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: I wish I had an excuse for the long wait, but I don't. Unless you count extreme laziness on my part. Sorry. **

Peter practically sleepwalked to Anna's apartment the next day, after spending half the night deciphering the stack of papers she had given him. He still did not understand three quarters of it, but felt as though he had at least _tried_ to make sure his future was in good hands.

_Thank God it's Saturday_, he thought wearily as he trudged up the stairs. If he had had to go to class today, he probably would have fallen asleep in the middle of it. Now _that_ would have been awkward.

Peter noticed a torn page of a tabloid on the floor and grimaced as he remembered the top story of the hour: Peter Parker aka Spiderman and his new 'girlfriend', Anna Luis.

_Well, that's just dandy. I really enjoy having my personal life be the topic of gossip columns,_ he thought bitterly, and kicked the paper out of the way. Not only did the press have it all wrong – Anna was no more his 'girlfriend' than Doctor Octopus was – being related to him in any way could put Anna in a great deal of danger. And that was part of the reason why Peter was venturing out of bed so early on a Saturday morning: to warn her.

Suddenly, Peter's nose wrinkled at a foreign odor wafting down the stairs. Was it just him, or did he smell… _smoke_? His stomach gave a lurch as his spider sense screamed at him. He was too late.

"Oh _shit_!" he shouted. Taking the stairs two at a time, he burst onto Anna's floor and ran straight into a crowd of people headed back the way he came. Smoke filled the corridor, stinging Peter's eyes and bringing about a strong sense of déjà vu as he remembered the last time he had been in a burning building.

"Anna! Anna!"

There was no answer.

Pushing his way through the panicking crowd, Peter rushed to Anna's door. It stood wide open, flames licking the frame. He leaped over them and landed in Anna's living room.

"Anna! Where are you!"

His only reply was the crackling of the flames and the ominous creaking of the floor below him. Feeling sick, Peter raced through the rooms of the apartment, looking for any sign of the young woman. Finally, when he reached the kitchen, he found one.

The entire wall had been blown away. Half the microwave was gone, replaced by a fifty foot drop-off. Peter blanched.

_Thanksgiving night… Aunt May saying her prayers… 'those eyes! Those horrible yellow eyes!'… the entire wall of her bedroom gone…_

Peter crouched, and picked up a shard of metal lying next to a coffee mug. It was green. His eyes narrowed dangerously.

"Harry…"

* * *

Anna had never been so scared in all her life. She was being held in the arms of a maniac in a green suit, flying high over the city on a contraption that looked like it belonged on Star Trek. This was nothing like the ride Peter had given her. Anna had no doubt that if he wanted to, this creep would drop her without a second's hesitation.

She lay limply; still trying to process what was going on. She had just gotten up, and was fixing her morning cup of hot chocolate when the wall had exploded. Cruel laughter had filled the air, and Anna had looked up to see… the Jolly Green Giant's evil twin. Minus the leaves. She would have laughed if he hadn't looked so dead set on hurting her.

She had tried to run, to fight, to do anything. The only weapon readily available had been a small pot, but boy did she swing that thing hard. It hit the maniac on the side of his head, knocking a piece of his helmet off. But it hadn't even slowed him down. He had just wrenched the pot out of her hands, grabbed her, and swung off with her on his glider.

And so here she was, flying off to who knows where, to God knows what fate, with a guy who looked like he belonged on a bag of frozen peas.

_Well, at least my life isn't boring_.

If her memory served her correctly, her kidnapper was none other than the Green Goblin, one of Spiderman's first enemies. But Peter had told her that the Goblin was dead, killed instantly by his own glider! There were obviously some missing pieces in this puzzle.

The glider swerved around a tight corner, and Anna felt her body swaying dangerously. Fear constricted her throat. She finally realized just how ridiculous those movies were, with the damsels in distress screaming their heads off while being carried away by the villain. Anna couldn't even find the strength to squeak, let alone scream.

She shivered in her pajamas, the wind biting her exposed skin, and swallowed a terrified sob. This freak would _never_ find out just how scared she was. A wet raindrop slapped against her face, startling her. She looked up, and saw dark rain clouds overhead, looking like they were seconds away from releasing a torrential downpour.

_Well that's certainly fitting_, she thought sarcastically.

* * *

His suit was soaked. Completely, absolutely, positively sopping wet. But Peter did not care.

He swung through the city at top speed, spider sense tingling, following the fading trail of exhaust left behind by the glider, and berated himself.

_I should have gotten there faster. I should have called her the second I saw that stupid article. I shouldn't have gone to that frickin' park with her. I knew I was putting her in danger. Why? Why did I have to be such an idiot? Why did I have to get her mixed up in all this?_

His thoughts went right out the window when he finally caught up with them. Anger clouded his vision as he saw the Goblin – _Harry_, he thought darkly – with a pale Anna held tightly in his arms. Peter's first instinct was to attack the drugged out son of a bitch, but the chance that Anna would be dropped and he wouldn't get to her in time was too great.

"Let her go, you bastard!" he screamed as he swung along beside them.

The Goblin cackled and shouted, "All in good time, my old friend! All in good time."

* * *

Harry was grinning behind his mask. Everything was going perfectly. Peter had quite a surprise waiting for him at their destination.

Norman Osborn had really had an ingenious plan for murdering Spiderman. Force him to make a choice, and then strike him while he was weak. The only problem with Norman's plot is that it hadn't been on a large enough scale.

And when Harry's glider swung around a corner, and the Empire State Building came into view, he began laughing uncontrollably.

_This big enough for ya, Dad?_

**A/N: Okay, before you all start throwing tomatoes at me, let me just say that I will try my very hardest to get the next chapter up before long. Also, I will admit that the Green Goblin doesn't actually look anything like the Jolly Green Giant. I just thought it sounded funny.**

**Thanks to all my reviewers: htbthomas, Scary Vampiress, Owl, Melissa, closetfan, ilovethestorys, Goth Child of Zyon, deppfreak, Angela, hedi, Icy Waters, and jjonahjameson.**

**That little button down there is not just for decoration. PLEASE REVIEW!**


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: Wow. I am a dirty liar. 'I will get the next chapter up before long.' HA! Boy was I wrong about that. Hope you can forgive me. Enjoy the chapter!**

The Empire State Building is 1,453 feet and 9 inches tall. The needle at its top disappears into the clouds on a stormy day. It has 102 stories, 6,500 windows, 73 elevators, and nearly 2,000 steps. It has been declared one of the Seven Wonders of the Modern World. And on one horrifying autumn day in the middle of a thunderstorm, a packed, two – story tour bus swayed in the wind as it hung from the top by a single cable.

_It just figures, doesn't it?_ Andrew Levin thought sarcastically as he sat rigidly in his seat, too scared to move lest the shifting weight send the bus plummeting from its precarious position to the crowded streets below.

_The first time I come to New York, my train gets hijacked by a maniac with eight limbs. The second time I come to New York, my bus becomes a Christmas ornament for the tallest building in the city. _

He swallowed hard and glanced out the window. He nearly threw up.

_That's it. No more big cities for me. If I get through this, I'm moving to a dairy farm in Kansas_.

The terror in the bus was so strong that Andrew could almost taste it. The girl on his left was sobbing hysterically, her face buried in the shoulder of the petrified young man sitting next to her. He could hear a baby wailing somewhere in the back, and the sounds of a woman frantically singing lullabies to her small children to calm them down drifted from the front. 'Rock a Bye Baby' filled the bus, and Andrew chuckled humorlessly. That was definitely not the best choice of repertoire. Almost involuntarily, he began to hum along.

_Rock a bye baby, on the treetop._

_When the wind blows, the cradle will rock._

_When the bough breaks, the cradle will fall._

_And down will come baby, cradle and all._

He was not at all surprised when the kids only cried harder.

Andrew looked out the window again, but this time he did not look down. If he was going to die, at least he'd die with a view. Even through the rain, New York City still looked impressive. Countless lights shone from countless windows, buildings almost as tall as the one they were hanging from stood out on the horizon, and if he strained his eyes, he could just make out the Statue of Liberty standing proudly in the harbor. And as he gazed out at what would probably be the last thing he ever saw, he caught a glimpse of something that ignited a spark within him. He grinned the grin reserved for people who are sure they are going to die but can still find the strength to hope, cleared his throat, and made an announcement.

"Spiderman's here."

* * *

Peter felt sick. A wave of déjà vu swept over him as he perched on a ledge of the Empire State Building, the Green Goblin standing above him with a choice. In one hand, he held Anna Luis. In the other, he held the thick cable that was the only thing keeping a double decker bus packed with tourists from plummeting to the street far below. Peter could tell that Anna was trying to be brave, but her normally cheerful face was pale and terrified. And through the windows of the bus, he could see dozens of petrified and helpless people, all of them innocent victims of a feud between two former best friends. 

"Harry, don't do this!" he shouted into the wind. "_Please_, Harry! These are innocent people! You don't want to become a murderer!"

An insane cackle cut the air.

"A murderer like _you_, brother?" the Goblin sneered.

"I didn't –"

"Save your breath! I know what you did, and now you're going to pay for it! So which'll it be, buddy? Will you save your little girlfriend, or the pathetic tourists? And don't try to pull a stunt like last time. Believe me, it won't work. That bus is too big for even you to hold and deal with some panicking bitch at the same time. It's either one or the other."

"Harry, _please_! Just _listen_ to me!"

But the Goblin obviously didn't want to.

"You'd better make your decision quick, buddy, because _here they go_!"

Everything seemed to slow down. The cable slipped from Harry's hand. The occupants of the bus cried out as one. Harry pulled his arm back in preparation to throw Anna off the side. Peter yelled in fury. And Anna's foot came into contact with the side of the Green Goblin's helmeted head.

Harry's grip on the young woman's neck slackened, and she hit the rooftop running.

"Go, Peter!" she yelled over her shoulder as she raced for the door leading inside. He needed no further prompting. Diving after the falling bus, he prayed that Harry would not pursue Anna into the building.

Snagging the cable with a webline, he pulled himself forward and caught it deftly. Sending another web up at the building, he prepared himself for pain.

It came. The web caught, and stopped him with a jerk. He shouted as he felt his arms come out of their sockets. The passengers of the bus were tossed about unceremoniously as its descent came to a jarring halt. Peter's body slammed against the wall painfully and he struggled to maintain his grip on the cable and the webline. Gritting his teeth, he doggedly hung on.

_Okay. I've gotten this far. Now what?_

* * *

Rage clouded Harry's vision as he watched his plan fall apart in front of him. The girl had run inside safely, and Peter had managed to catch the falling bus before it had gotten too far. Growling in fury, Harry sped down to where his former buddy now hung, helpless as a bug caught on flypaper. 

The sight of Peter hanging there in his red and blue skintight spandex suit, one hand clutching the cable and the other one clinging to his web, seemed outrageously funny to the crazed young supervillain. Laughing insanely, he brought the glider down until he was eye – level with the masked man.

"Well, Peter. You've certainly gotten yourself into a fix. What's the noble, selfless, invincible Spiderman going to do now?"

Peter's retort sounded as if it came through painfully clenched teeth.

"What do you want, Harry? Why are you doing this? You obviously know who your father really was, and why I had to do what I did. Your father killed innocent people, Harry. Do you really want to follow in his footsteps?"

There was a pause. And then:

"You're right, Peter. I don't want to be like my father. I'm so sorry for all this."

Behind his mask, Harry was grinning. He reached out and gripped Peter's gloved hand.

"Here, let me help you."

"Why should I trust you?"

Harry threw his head back and laughed. "You shouldn't, but you can't really do anything about it can you?"

He ripped Peter's mask off. He wanted to see the look on his old friend's face as he watched all these innocent people fall to their deaths.

"Harry, what – NO!"

With one swipe of the knives on the bottom of the glider, the cable was cut, and the bus plunged downward. Peter leapt forward, but was pulled back sharply by Harry's strong grip on his wrist.

"Let _go_!" he screamed, struggling against his captor. Harry slammed him against the wall and backhanded him. Eyes alight with rage, Peter launched himself at Harry's chest, knocking him off balance. Before Harry could even blink, the young hero was gone.

* * *

_God, if you're up there, please forgive me for all the times I've used your name in vain. And for all the times I've skipped church. And for all the other sins that I can't remember right now. Just please, please let me get to that bus before it hits the ground._

Peter fell straight down. His exposed face was buffeted by the wind, and his eyes watered. But the bus was far ahead of him, and was fast approaching the ground. Luckily, it hadn't hit the wall or flipped over yet, but there was no avoiding the pavement below.

Shooting a webline downwards, Peter felt a small surge of triumph when it hit its target. Shooting another web at the wall, he braced himself for the second painful stop in five minutes.

The bus came to a halt. Its wheels spun exactly eighteen feet from the street.

* * *

Detective Nathan Brandt had seen some pretty impressive things in his day, but what he had just witnessed took the cake without a shadow of a doubt. His mouth literally hung open as he watched the tour bus sway not twenty feet from the ground, saved at the last second by a slight – framed college boy in red and blue spandex. Shockingly, miraculously, the passenger's lives had been spared. 

But he spoke too soon. A blur of green sped downwards, and the Green Goblin had a laugh at Spiderman's expense. One of his green armored fists drove into the young hero's solar plexus, driving the wind out of him. He lost his grip on the webline that held the bus in midair, and it came crashing downward with a screech of metal on pavement, tipping sideways and spilling gasoline all over the road.

Rescue workers hurried over and immediately began pulling passengers from the wreckage. The battle between Spiderman and the Goblin raged overhead, inarticulate cries and angry insults finding their way to Brandt's ears. Suddenly, Spiderman dove forward and knocked the Goblin off his glider. The armored man fell like a stone to the street nearly twenty feet down.

The rescue team had gotten just about everyone out of the bus. Spiderman landed lightly next to his prone nemesis. And for the second time, Brandt thought the trouble was over. But then Spiderman's head shot up, and he began yelling.

"Move! Get away from the bus! Get everyone _away_!"

The brown – haired young man raced forward and yanked the last few people away from the wreckage. And then he turned back to see the Goblin stumbling towards him, his back to the smoldering bus.

"_Harry_!"

It all seemed to happen in slow motion. A spark fell into the puddles of gasoline surrounding the wreckage. Spiderman launched himself forward towards the Goblin. The bus erupted in flames. The young man shoved the Goblin down. And then the bus exploded, sending fire and shrapnel everywhere. And the world watched in horror as the hero of New York was crushed under a large, jagged piece of painted metal.

**A/N: Please don't kill me. And forgive me if it's not very good writing. It is... 1:34 in the morning, and I'm way too tired to be doing this. Thanks to all my reviewers: ****deppfreak, June63, Andromeda, max, Delia Ra'Nar, sourskittle89, closetfan, Goth Child of Zyon, hedi, Scary Vampiress, IcyWaters, htbthomas, and ilovethestorys.**

**PRETTY PLEASE REVIEW!**


	12. Chapter 12

Chaos.

That was the only word Mark Crytchin could think of to describe the state of the Manhattan ER he worked in. Moments before, he and his colleagues had been glued to the small TV perched on top of the main office's filing cabinets, unable to tear themselves away from the horrifying picture of a giant tour bus swaying a hundred stories from the ground. And now the hospital was swamped with its injured passengers, none of whom would be alive if it weren't for the mangled and bloodstained man who lay limp and unmoving on the gurney Mark was now helping to navigate frantically through the crowded hallways.

The surgeon had seen exactly what had happened to the young hero in front of him. The entire thing was recorded on tape, and was playing on every news station in the world at that very moment. The fact that Spiderman was still breathing, however shallowly, was a miracle in and of itself. The huge chunk of bus that had hit him had been going fast enough to send a full - grown elephant flying. It had carried him nearly thirty feet down the road and had smeared him along the pavement for ten. When Mark got the call and ran to the ambulance, he was expecting to be greeted with a dead and unrecognizable corpse. But the young man was alive, barely, and Mark knew that it was going to take yet another miracle to keep him that way.

"Move! Get out of the way!" he yelled as they barreled down the hall. A nurse ran at his side, holding an IV bag aloft as its contents dripped down through the tube and into their patient's arm. In this business, every second counted, and with each passing moment, Mark could almost sense the life flowing from this heroic man's mutilated body.

They were in for a long and hard struggle for survival.

* * *

"Please! Let me in! You've got to let me in!" 

"I'm sorry ma'am, but unless you are injured, there is no way you are getting into that hospital."

Anna glared angrily at the policeman blocking her way. He had no idea who he was dealing with. Well, actually, he did know, since she had already told him that she was Spiderman's friend and that he needed her support, but he hadn't believed her. And in all honesty, who could blame him? He must be getting that kind of thing a lot.

It had been two and a half hours since Peter had gone in there on a stretcher, and there was still no indication whether he would be leaving on his feet or in a coffin. A giant crowd had gathered at the doors, blocking the street and bombarding anyone who entered or left the building with questions. Flashbulbs went off blindingly, reporters blathered into their microphones, the police struggled to control the crowd, and still there was no news. Anna groaned. Peter was alone and hurt in there! If he was awake, he was probably scared out of his wits! He needed someone to be there for him, and that damn policeman just _didn't get it._

She stalked away quickly, before her base instincts took over and she began hitting the infuriating man. She leaned against the wall of the hospital, beside a hot dog vendor who had obviously decided to take advantage of all the excitement and set up shop. He was doing well, and Anna distracted herself from her anger and worry by watching him squirt ketchup and mustard expertly on a little boy's hot dog.

And suddenly she had an idea.

* * *

Nathan Brandt was feeling decidedly frazzled. Today had been hectic, to say the least. First the bus on the Empire State Building, then the super – fight, then the explosion, and now _this_! Crowd control was one of the most infuriating aspects of his job, and he was about _this close_ to whipping out his gun and shooting anyone who claimed to be related to Spiderman. Didn't these people _read_? If they did, they would have known that Peter Parker didn't _have_ any surviving relations! 

And speaking of Peter, Nathan was worried sick about the boy. In their brief encounter, the grizzled detective had developed a strong liking for the willful young man. He was a good kid, and the luck that Nathan had wished for him that day when he walked out of the interrogation room, completely unprepared for fame and notice, had obviously not come. Brandt didn't want to think about what the city would be like if he died.

"Hey, mister!"

An agitated voice broke through his thoughts, and he blinked and focused in on the same young woman who had tried to get by him before. He rolled his eyes.

"Look, lady. I'm not letting you in. Get over it. Go buy a hot dog or some – "

"No, look," she interrupted. "I know this is gonna sound really fake, but I just fell and cut myself."

At his skeptical look, she yelled indignantly, "I'm not lying!" And she held up her left arm. The thin fabric of her shirt was torn, and blood oozed from a deep cut, soaking the blue fabric with a thick red liquid. He stared at it suspiciously.

"Are you just gonna stand there?" the woman demanded frantically, looking faint. "I'm bleeding to death here, and all you can do is stare?"

He still had his doubts, but better safe than sorry.

"Alright, ma'am. Go on in. But go straight to a doctor. No wandering!"

She breathed a sigh of relief. "Oh, thank you officer!" And she darted inside.

* * *

Mark Crytchin walked out of the operating room and nearly fainted with relief. Three hours and 234 stitches later, there was some hope. If everything went perfectly, and if Peter Parker had some will to live, he would get through this. 

Discarding his bloodstained gloves in a trashcan, Mark trudged off to clean up and then make a press statement. He didn't notice the young woman in blue flannel pajamas making her way stealthily towards the room he had just exited.

Suddenly, two nurses pushed open the door and wheeled a gurney out into the hallway. The woman sat down on a bench and crossed her legs, looking supremely confident that this was exactly where she was supposed to be. The nurses didn't give her a second glance. They passed her, and she got up again, following them quietly.

* * *

_The following is Doctor Mark Allen Crytchin's statement to the press outside Mercy Hospital in Manhattan, where Peter Parker, otherwise known as Spiderman, is being treated:_

_"Mr. Parker's wounds are severe, but we have managed to stabilize him. He is alive, as of this moment, and if everything goes well, he will survive. But he has sustained massive damage to his spinal cord, and it is very unlikely that he will ever make a full recovery. I'm sorry to say it is probable that Spiderman's webswinging days are over."_

* * *

Spiderman's domain is New York City, but the entire world was holding its breath. 

"Is Spiderman gonna die?" a boy in Tennessee asked his father tearfully.

"Do you really think he won't be able to fight bad guys anymore?" a middle aged man in France called out to his wife, his eyes glued to the television.

"Poor boy…" an elderly lady in Japan murmured as she cooked dinner for her grandchildren.

"Oh my God, Peter…" a red – haired young woman sobbed despairingly into the pleated cushions of her couch.

Sometimes, it takes the thought of death to make you realize just how much you love someone.

* * *

Pain. It filled his mind, blocking out everything else, until he could not even remember his own name. Where was he? What had happened to him? Snippets of action, like a dream, flashed before his eyes. A building. A girl. A bus, swaying in the wind. The Goblin. _Harry_. The name jumped unbidden to his lips. The girl, held up by the Goblin's strong grip. _Anna_. And then the fall, the fight, and the explosion. Shoving the Goblin down, and taking the blow himself. And then blackness. 

His eyes flew open. The pain flooded in again, and he cried out. And suddenly Anna was above him, stroking his face soothingly, murmuring words he could not hear. The blackness took him again, but this time he knew it would not be for long.

**A/N: Hope you liked it, even though the plot didn't really progress that much. Oh well. Sorry (again, for like the tenth time) for the wait. **

**Thanks to all my reviewers: anonymous, Mistress Arts, Shadow Chaser, jla2snoopy, hedi, Tenshi Aine, ASuperHeroAtHeart, Moyima, Litheran, Madame Webb, Tigilus Ramelius, SupportSeverusSnape, sealkid3, closetfan, Scary Vampiress, Delia Ra'Nar, Goth child of Zyon, JadeDragoness, Rsegovia, IcyWaters, deppfreak, and htbthomas.**

**PLEASE REVIEW!**


End file.
